


Integration Part V

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [30]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:49:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What is it that I need to see?”</p><p><i>Many things,</i> the specter whispered.  Then she said, <i>You are going to die.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Integration Part V

**Author's Note:**

> BetaBetaBeta credit, as usual, to WriteStuffLee, MerryAmelie, and Norcumi, all of whom are awesome.
> 
> _____________________________________________
> 
> Okay, next up: This is coming in early because I had a miniature environmental disaster in my basement occur this week--yes, the sort that involves the presence of the EPA. I'm kind of completely stressed out to the max, and handing other people shiny things sometimes goes a long way to mitigating some of that.

Republic Date 5201: 4/16th

Jedi Temple, Coruscant

 

It was late by the time Garen Muln managed to land the _Fancy_ in the uppermost Temple landing bay. He shut down the Skipray, performing each function by rote. His eyes were burning with exhaustion, and it was beyond tempting to slump over the controls and sleep in the cockpit.

“ _Fancy,_ huh?” the Rodian tech asked, staring up at the freshly painted name that graced the Skipray’s hull.

“That was so not my decision,” Garen said, rubbing his eyes before yawning until his jaw cracked. “Well, okay, it was a little bit my decision, but it’s less honesty and more of an in-joke.”

Spree laughed at him. “Did you get called fancy-pants once too often, Knight?”

Garen looked down at his silken formal tunics. “Gods, I hate diplomatic duty. I want to go back to being a regular, grungy courier.” It was the same damned job, but the former required he be well-groomed at all times. That shit got old fast.

“Go to bed, Muln,” Spree said, after Garen signed off on her datapad. “We’ll have the _Fancy_ fueled, restocked, and ready to go again when you need her next.”

“Thanks,” Garen said, and stumbled off to the turbolift. He slumped against the wall inside, enjoying the ride and trying not to fall asleep standing up.

He fell asleep anyway. He woke up to a young Togrutan Padawan poking him in the chest. “Wake up!” the kid said, grinning up at Garen. “You can’t live here, we need this thing.”

Garen shook himself and looked at the Padawan’s three companions, which included a covered object almost as tall as he was, hovering on a platform. “Need it for _what?_ ”

“Uhm…” the human girl said, blushing to the roots of her white hair.

“Y’know…” the shortest kid, a Bith, trailed off in a classic display of nerves.

“Stuff,” said the Togrutan.

“Classy,” Garen replied, stepping out of the lift. “Nothing irreparable, don’t kill anyone, and try to avoid humiliation. That last bit’s not fucking nice.” It was not his job to police Temple pranksters. Windu could do that. “Also, it’s a really good idea to have your excuses ready beforehand. Stuttering gives the game away.”

The Togrutan boy grinned. “Yessir,” he said, helping his fellow Padawans shove the floating…whatever it was, onto the turbolift. The doors closed behind them.

Garen resumed his trek home. He hoped their gang had never been so blasted obvious when it came to mischief.

 _Hmm. Maybe Bant._ She’d been the youngest of the group, and prone to burbling giggles when she was nervous. Siri had been too good at pretending to be innocent and cute; Obi-Wan mastered that bland diplomat’s mask pretty damned fast. Garen had always played dumb, and Reeft was able to mask nerves by shoving a ration bar into his mouth. Abella just cheated and pretended not to speak Basic.

Garen made it to the door before he noticed the names listed on the placard, and swore under his breath. Right. He’d moved the hell out weeks ago. His old bedroom was a nursery, or should have been one by now. At least Tahl was doing okay, even if she was going stir-crazy in the Ward.

He turned and went walking back down the hall. He’d managed to snag a set of quarters on the same level, so he could be close by in case of emergencies. Maybe some Knights were content to wander off and never darken their Master’s door again, but Garen thought that was a stupid idea.

Garen opened the door to his quarters, stepped inside, and walked straight into Reeft. “FUCK!” he yelped, and almost fell backwards through the still-open door.

Reeft caught him by one arm and started laughing. “Quiet, you! It’s very late, and people are sleeping.”

Garen regained his balance and palmed the door shut. “You’re back!” he blurted.

“I have been back for some time,” Reeft returned with a smile. “You, however, have been gone.”

“Right.” Garen pounced, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and trying his best to stick his tongue down Reeft’s throat.

Reeft laughed into his mouth and held him close. _I missed you, too, heartmate._

Garen cupped the back of Reeft’s head and stroked his fingers along bare skin, something that had never failed to make Reeft purr. The rumble he felt against his chest was soothing and awesome. There was honestly something to be said for being the same height as your make-out partner.

His hand dropped lower, fingers resting against the back of Reeft’s neck. He was tired, probably too exhausted for sex, but this was still the best greeting he’d had in…

Garen opened his eyes and drew back. “Your necklace is gone.”

Reeft’s eyes widened in mock-surprise. “Is it?”

“You complete _bastard!_ ” Garen laughed and planted another kiss on Reeft’s lips. “You’ve been Knighted!”

“Oh, I suppose I have been,” Reeft said, and made a startled noise when Garen shoved them both back until they fell onto the couch.

“Congratulations, you clever man,” Garen murmured, after a prolonged session of kissing and nuzzling that had awoken his cock with a vengeance, exhausted or not. “Marry me.”

Reeft snorted out a surprised laugh. “Isn’t that a bit sudden?”

“Look, seriously, we’ve been dating for more than three years now,” Garen said, getting the last layer of clothing out of the way so he could lick the dark blotches of color that began at the hollow of Reeft’s throat and ran down the center of his chest. “I don’t think it’s entirely unreasonable to want to formalize things now that I’m no longer corrupting a Padawan.”

When he looked up, Reeft was smiling, his eyes aglow with happiness and pleasure. Garen still thought it was the most fantastic thing ever that his boyfriend’s brown eyes literally shined with faint, warm light whenever he was thrilled. “Well?”

“Can we at least make it a long engagement?” Reeft asked, running his fingers through Garen’s hair. “I think my Master would be perturbed if I turned up married three days after my Knighting.”

“Well, it’d have to be,” Garen said, working on removing the belt that was in his blasted way. “You can’t just Lifebond with someone on a whim. Only crazy people like Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon do that.”

Reeft chuckled. “To be fair, they were mentally and physically close for a long time before physical intimacy happened, let alone Lifebonding. We are…we are probably not at that point yet, despite your persistent efforts.”

“Well, there’s flouting the Code, and then there’s getting both our asses in trouble.” Garen grinned his success as he got the belt off of Reeft’s waist. “I’m game to go through the whole long, meditative process.”

Reeft caught his hands after Garen dropped the belt onto the floor. “Heartmate,” he said in his soft burr. “Why do you want this now? It’s very sudden.”

“You realize you’re asking me a serious question while I’m straddling your excellent Dressellian member.”

“I am aware of your position, and you’re not allowed to move until you answer me.” Reeft’s expression was smug. “And, please do not use faux-diplomatic speak. I need to be able to keep a straight face the next time I hear things about excellent members in a political setting.”

“Right.” Garen lifted Reeft’s large, callused hand to his lips, kissing roughened fingertips. “It’s…during Obi-Wan’s Sharing, I had to look at your pyre. I had to look at myself completely fucking broken. That version of me, he never asked you to bond, and I guess that Reeft never asked him, either.

“We live in a galaxy with a Sith on a loose. It doesn’t feel like we’re at war, but Micah sure as hell thinks we are. I don’t want to see anything like that moment again,” Garen said. There was still a shine to Reeft’s eyes, but he was staring up at Garen in sober contemplation. “I want to know that if the worst happens, I can still find you. If I’m going to wind up dead, I want your company over anyone else’s.”

Reeft smiled. “Now that is a proposal that I will accept.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

Fieff snickered as Tachi corrected Fa’an’s pronunciation for a third time. “No, it’s _ek’ta chuu ruk,_ ” Tachi said, speaking basic Sith like she was a native. “ _Ek tay chuu ruk_ changes the meaning. You’re trying to tell someone that you’re going to kill them, not that you’re going to marinate them.”

“This language is impossible!” Fa’an shouted, before letting her head come down to rest with a solid thump against the table.

“Just wait’ll you try High Sith,” Tachi said, giving the Falleen a sympathetic look. “That one will twist your tongue into a knot.”

“Is it as backwards as this one?” Fa’an asked in a muffled voice.

Tachi nodded. “Yup.”

“ _Gluu t’hai thrurin bar tu,_ ” Fieff said, which caused Fa’an to lift her head and glare at him. “What? I was just offering my sympathy.”

“I am going to marinate you,” Fa’an retorted, which caused Tachi to dissolve into a fit of giggles. Some days he was starkly reminded that Tachi was still young.

Fieff felt his lips twitch, despite his best efforts. “I assure you, I taste delicious.”

“Too bitter,” Fa’an replied, “unless you have heeded my advice and added more citrus fruits to your diet.”

“Wait, you guys used to be a thing?” Tachi asked, curious.

“Just the once,” Fieff said. “I’d picked up some stupid poison somewhere, and we didn’t have any of the standard antidote drugs on-hand.”

“And I am a terrible Healer,” Fa’an said. “I could have killed him while trying to help him purge the drug.”

“But, she knew that a good, old-fashioned endorphin release could get my adrenals to spike enough to keep me alive,” Fieff continued, grinning. “Thus, there was glorious sex that I can’t remember at all.”

“Well, I’m glad it was life-saving. It just sort of skeeves me out, the thought of not consenting,” Tachi said. “I know I have a reputation, but I also have rules.”

“Oh, he consented.” Fa’an smiled. “I made him sign his name to a datapad so that no one could come along afterward and accuse me of inappropriate behavior with my junior partner.”

“Besides, Tachi—seriously. A gorgeous Falleen woman, who I’d had the most gods-awful crush on throughout puberty, was willing to _climb into my lap_.” Fieff shook his head. “I should have made her take vid footage. My wife still doesn’t believe that I got to have sex with a Falleen before she did.”

“Has she managed a Falleen yet?” Fa’an asked with a sharp grin.

“Nope.” Fieff picked up his tea and bit back a curse. He’d left it too long, and now it was cold. “Besides, right now she’s hung up on Zeltrons.”

There was a muted thud, followed by a much louder one. Fa’an shook her head. “Dravaco, the point of hiding is to _not_ make noise!”

Dravaco appeared next to Fieff’s table, a scowl on his face. “Stop poaching on my girlfriend, Fieff.”

Fieff raised an eyebrow. Dravaco had been damned touchy where Grierseer was concerned. He had a feeling their trial relationship wasn’t going too well. “Well, first off, I said Zeltrons, plural. Second, you guys are monogamous, and I wouldn’t shove my nose into that without an engraved invitation. I have rules, too.”

Dravaco’s scowl melted away. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “That was uncalled for.”

“Our training is making us all snippier than usual,” Fa’an said. “I have been bitching Tachi out for a solid ten-day while trying to learn even the basics of Sith language.”

Dravaco nodded. “I’m not doing well at that, either. I’ll be satisfied if I can learn enough to be able to spot the traps that Kenobi says exist in Sith documents.”

“Meanwhile, this guy has already mastered Kittât,” Tachi said, jerking a thumb in Fieff’s direction. “That particular Sith language is a pain in the ass.”

“No, common Sith is a pain in the ass. Kittât looks to be _torture_ ,” Fa’an muttered.

“Wait—you’ve mastered the third language?” Dravaco looked amazed. “When the hell did you do that?”

Fieff shrugged. “I’ve been looking into the languages for a while.” It was less direct than admitting he’d learned the hardest of Sith languages before his Knighting. His philosophy in those days had been a lot more “go big or go home.” Thank the gods he’d grown out of that phase.

“I’m going to head out,” Fieff said, standing up. “Dravaco, take my place as referee, so that Fa’an doesn’t try to throttle Siri the next time she butchers a basic phrase.”

“Fuck you,” Fa’an said.

“Please, again, as soon as possible, without me being drugged first,” Fieff returned, grinning.

Fa’an waved her hand in a courtly gesture. “Leave my presence, else I shall be forced to use my pheromones to give you the worst hard-on you’ve ever had in your life.”

Fieff booked it out of there. He didn’t need another one of those—when Fa’an played mean, he was hard for _hours_. It wasn’t near as much fun as he’d once thought it could be.

He found his steps slowing as he approached the hidden doorway to the old commissary. Ever since he’d first recognized the illusion, he hated walking past. Shielded or not, he often heard words emerge from that doorway that made his skin crawl.

_Colm Fieff._

Case in point.

Fieff swallowed and stopped walking. He looked to his right and found the silhouette of a person standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

_It is time, Colm Fieff._

“Oh.” Fieff gave it a moment’s thought before stripping off his coat and dumping it on the floor next to the wall. The coat was quickly followed by his belt, with his lightsaber still attached. It took longer to find the needles he hid in his clothes and add them to the pile, and it was never fun to retrieve his dagger without first removing his trousers.

_Are you so confident in your abilities?_

Fieff snorted. “I’m not a fool who’s going to walk into a Chamber with implements of destruction, is what,” he said under his breath.   He straightened and faced the doorway. “Oh, fuck me,” he said, “and that’s not an invitation.”

Fieff took one final breath of air from the corridor, and stepped into the old commissary’s Chamber of Trial.

It was dark inside, murky and dim despite the fact that he could look up and see the lights glowing in the ceiling panels. There were tables and chairs in shades of viscera red, and the entire place felt like doom encapsulated

When several minutes crawled by, and nothing happened, Fieff felt his shoulders relax. “Is this what he meant by ready? That there is nothing here I fear?”

_I wouldn’t say that._

The woman-shape had materialized in front of him again. There was no hint of eyes or mouth, or any distinguishing features at all. Fieff figured she was just a construct of the room, not any actual entity.

“Then what do you have for me?” Fieff asked. “What is it that I need to see?”

 _Many things_ , the specter whispered. Then she said, _You are going to die._

Fieff laughed. “Man, is that the best you’ve got? I’m a Jedi Shadow! We’re not exactly known for reaching retirement age. Most of us human types die before age forty.”

_The ancient Jedi of your past had no need of pyres. Do you fear the teachings of the old ones?_

Don’t lie. Not here. “A little,” Fieff admitted. “Mostly because it’s new, and it means getting over a lifetime of dogma and rhetoric.”

_Ask your Not-Sith teacher to tell you what it entails._

Fieff raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t sound too happy about the idea of teaching that.”

 _It was not displeasure,_ the figure whispered. Honestly, for a Sith Chamber of Trial, she was being more helpful than the Temple’s Chamber. That one had just shouted at him a lot.

“If not displeasure, then what? Are we not capable of learning it?”

_You are an individual, not a group. The idea of teaching it to all of you is overwhelming for him, as are most things while Fire rages. Go to him alone, Colm Fieff. You will learn what you need._

Fieff felt air swirl around him, though the form didn’t move. “Why? Why do I need this, when the others don’t?”

_You are going to die._

“Cute,” he said. “We all die. Tell me why this is different.”

 _Very well,_ the figure said. _I will show you._

 

*          *          *          *

 

“How are you doing?”

Venge sighed and let his head thump against the back of his chair. “Well enough.”

“Liar,” Ra’um-Ve said, sitting down in the other chair next to her brother. Abella was sitting on the floor, leaning against Zarin Har, who was not voicing any objections about being turned into a cushion.

It was rare of late that he dealt with all four Healers together. They had decided after the serotonin incident to make sure there was both a body and mind Healer available at all times. Su’um-Va and Abella worked together during the day, while Ra’um-Ve and Har handled the night cycle.

Venge lifted his head. “Is it dusk, or dawn? I’ve lost track unless I check a chrono.”

“Dusk,” said Su’um-Va.

“Dawn,” said Abella.

All four Healers burst out into the nerve-wracked laughter of the too-long confined. “You are asking the wrong group, I’m afraid,” Zarin Har said, as Ra’um-Ve poked at her datapad.

“Dawn."  Ra’um-Ve looked relieved. “I’m glad that it’s not actually dusk, because it would mean I hallucinated my way through an entire shift.”

Su’um-Va looked thoughtful. “I do believe I dreamed an entire shift in my sleep.”

“We all need a break,” Har said. “We’ve pushed ourselves just as hard as you’ve pushed them. I think it’s time you cave and declare a rest day.”

Venge nodded. “It’s the right time for it. We had to hit a certain point, and I believe we’re there, now.”

“What’s the certain point?” Abella asked, suspicious. “Aside from you just falling over.”

Venge smiled. “Fieff just walked into the Chamber of Trial.”

“Fucking _what?_ ” Ra’um-Ve shouted.

Venge pressed his hand to his head as the shout reverberated inside his skull. “Please don’t do that.”

Su’um-Va placed his hand on his sister’s arm. “Rava, please. We knew that this was possible at any time.”

Ra’um-Ve gritted her teeth as she regained control over her temper. “That’s your idea of when to declare a rest period? Someone deciding to just go waltzing into the Chamber?”

“Well, now everyone is going to discover what it is,” Venge said, and felt his head start to pound. Sound was the only trigger a headache needed. “I thought it would be a kindness to allow our Shadows a day or two to contemplate what awaits them.”

“That’s mean,” Har said, chuckling. “It’ll be like the Knighthood Trials all over again, for most of that lot.”

“Better to be prepared than not,” Venge said. He sensed Tachi coming before he heard her footsteps; she was radiating curiosity and tension in equal measures.

Tachi peered around the doorway into the shared office space. “Uh, I hate to interrupt, but…”

“What is it?” Ra’um-Ve asked.

“Well, I know you guys were having one of your head-butting sessions and all, but uh…Fieff just walked through a wall,” Tachi announced, “and Quinlan looks freaked, so I’m guessing he’s gone into that mysterious old commissary he talked about.”

Venge levered himself up from his chair, feeling the burn in his arms as his body protested the decision to move. “And thus it begins.”

Ra’um-Ve grabbed her portable kit. “As long as Fieff comes out under his own power, I’ll be _thrilled_.”

“What? Wait, this is an expected thing? Where did he go?” Tachi blurted out in a rush.

“Go get the others,” Venge told her. She obeyed without question, sensing the importance of his request.

Venge and the Healers walked down the corridor to find several other Shadows clustered around the area where Fieff had disappeared. Those gathered would have lost perception of Fieff in the Force, as well—the commissary was designed with bulkhead shielding. The first layer protected the door from discovery, while a second, more permanent layer protected the room itself. It was the best way to keep prying eyes and too-curious Shadows at bay.

Tachi’s description of Vos was accurate. The Kiffar was staring at the wall, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The reaction was unexpected, but no less concerning.

“Are we going to have to go in and pull him out again?” Vos asked, directing a quick glance in Venge’s direction.

Venge shook his head. “I highly doubt it.”

Quinlan turned his head to stare at him in disbelief. “But, it’s—”

“Fieff knew exactly what he was walking into,” Venge interrupted in a sharp voice. “He was ready. You are not.”

Disbelief became anger-tinged dismay. “Why?”

“Because you are afraid of it,” Venge said. “You don’t believe you are ready for what is in there.”

Quinlan glanced back and forth between Venge and the wall. “Dammit,” he said at last, shoulders slumping. “You’re right.”

Kurri slammed the end of her ironwood staff down onto the floor. “This is all very interesting, but the rest of us would like to know just what the _hell_ is going on.”

“Wait.” Tachi was bringing the missing Shadows—Gyre, Dravaco, Fa’an, and the Bo twins, with Tholme just behind them.

“That’s all of us,” Tachi said, glancing down at Fieff’s discarded possessions. She looked up, her eyes widening with realization. “Oh. I get it now.”

Venge glanced at the wall. He did not want to do this; he feared the repercussions for the Shadows. It had finally occurred to him that even among this core group, some of these Jedi would _never_ be ready for what lay beyond. Some truths would be too hard to face. Even he was in no hurry to venture back into that room.

“You all have been curious about the references to the old commissary.” Venge let loose the tight rein on his power, feeling it uncurl and rise up, looking for something to destroy. He gave it just enough freedom to tear down the illusion that protected the room from discovery. There were several surprised breaths drawn as Venge removed the first layer of shields.

Even though the second layer of shields remained, the absolute Darkness contained within the old commissary rushed through the revealed entryway and into the corridor, swirling around them all in a near-tangible wave. It turned the air near the door thick and noxious, leaving a bitter taste on the tongue.

“Fuuuuuck me,” Greegor whispered.

“Sideways and lubeless,” Breegin added.

“Crass,” Fa’an said, tilting her head as she tried to view the shadowy darkness that lurked beyond the revealed doorway. “There is a commissary inside?”

“Makes sense.” Gyre was rapidly blinking his eyes as he attempted to use his night vision. “I see tables and chairs. I don’t see Fieff, though.”

“You would not,” Venge said.

Herssella was shifting in place from one foot to the other, driven to restlessness by the aura of darkness. “It feels _wrong_ ,” she hissed. “What is wrong with that room?”

“Nothing,” Venge said, which earned him several glares. “It depends upon your point of view. It is not wrong because it is functioning as it should. What once was a commissary is now a Chamber of Trial.”

“Wait—you can just…make one of those?” Grierseer looked startled. “I thought there was no one left who understood how to do that.”

“I know how to make _this_ kind,” Venge said. “I don’t know about recreating something like the Chamber of Trial in the Temple, as each Chamber’s function is different.”

Kurri was shaking her head. “You hid this place with the exact same methods we learned for Force-hiding. I feel like a fool. It never occurred to me that the same technique could be employed to hide objects.”

“Did anyone ever figure out a way to find Force-hidden objects?” Tachi asked.

“No.” Venge allowed himself a moment’s pleasure that Tachi had remembered that detail. “Mine and Fieff’s natural ability discerns them, but no one has learned of any other means.”

“Uh, Fieff is still in there,” Vos pointed out, looking grim. “Is that normal?”

“I don’t hear screaming, so I would assume so,” Venge said dryly. “Listen, all of you. This was hidden from your eyes and senses because you _must_ be prepared before you go inside. This room is not about making you become ready, like the Knighthood’s Trials. This Chamber will not merely show you your flaws, but will rip them from your mind and force you to confront them, no matter how terrible you think them to be. It will be relentless, as it must be, because Sidious will show you no mercy.

Kurri leaned on her staff, contemplating the room with an unblinking stare. “You mean that we will see what we are truly capable of.”

Venge nodded. “Perhaps. We all have darkness; within or without.” Venge reached out his hand and placed his fingertips on Gyre’s shoulder. “I know you are curious, but do not even entertain the thought of nearing the threshold. The trial begins the moment you enter, and it will not let you depart until it is done.

“Going into this particular Trial could actually end your life. Do _not_ —” Venge eyed the Shadows, his gaze merciless. “Do not go inside unless Tholme or I tell you that it is time.”

“Er…” Dravaco looked horrified. “But Fieff—”

“Ah.” Venge smiled. “I told Fieff ages ago that he could go inside whenever he liked.”

There was a flash of anger, or perhaps dismay, in Dravaco’s eyes, before it was buried again beneath the man’s shielding. He stepped close to the doorway, to Venge’s disquiet, but made no move to enter. “I do understand that you hid it, but its aura of darkness is almost as intense as yours. How is it possible to hide such a thing for so long a time?”

“I built shielding into the walls,” Venge said, and bit his lip when unexpected pain began around and in his eyes. For fuck’s sake, he did _not_ need a migraine.

“You can build shielding. Into the walls,” Gyre said in a wondering voice.

“It is not that difficult,” Venge replied. “Believing that it is complicated is what sabotages the process.”

“How did you do it?” Grierseer asked. “I want to learn that instead of tying my tongue into knots for the sake of Sith languages.”

Fa’an also seemed fascinated. “Micah told me once that there was no one alive who remembered how to recreate that kind of built-in shielding. There are only few rooms in the Coruscant Temple that have it.”

“There is no specific instruction set for this,” Venge said, and felt his left hand curl into an involuntary fist. He needed time alone, soon. “Desire is just as important a component in all Force techniques, equal to will and potential. I wanted this room to be shielded from your mental sight, so I made it that way.”

Gyre’s eyes were almost perfectly round pools of black, though from amazement or further attempts to see inside the Chamber, Venge couldn’t tell. “That’s it? Really?”

“Of course it is!” Venge snapped, his temper unraveling from pain and Fire’s prodding. “Why should it be any more complicated than that? The difficulty in such construction always lies in knowing how much power you can channel before…difficulties arise.”

“Like psychic shock,” Vos said.

“Psychic overextension,” Har corrected him, but Vos only shrugged.

“Shock, or burnout,” Venge agreed, which made the Bothan Healer’s fur ripple with irritation. “Or even literally burning yourself to ash. Do you not ever wonder why the great Masters of our Order do so very little with their strength?”

Herssella shifted on her feet, her talons clacking against the durasteel flooring. “I believe that they felt no need to be show-offs. A Master does not need to prove themselves to anyone.”

“Theoretically,” Venge said, noncommittal.

“Teaching Master say: desire is tricky,” Skaalka spoke up, struggling to use Basic for the full extent of what she wished to say. “Desire bring closer to Darkness.”

Venge shook his head, which was a mistake. It only made the pounding in his head worse. “That is fear talking, or denial. We lift objects into the air because we desire it. We accomplish this because we _want_ it, and because we have the potential to achieve it. The three are always intertwined, no matter what side of the Force you use.”

Fieff stepped out of the Chamber, forestalling anything else Venge might have said. His eyes were huge, his mouth pinched to a thin, grim line. He blinked a few times, looking around at the gathered Shadows. “What the hell are you guys all doing out here?”

“Waiting to see if you were going to come out in one piece,” Dravaco said, mirroring Fieff’s wide-eyed gaze.

“Oh. Uhm. Well.” Fieff rubbed his jaw. “I’m in one piece.”

“How was it?” Tachi asked.

Fieff considered it. “I need to throw up. Otherwise…I’m okay.” The Shadows broke into an excited flurry of questions, to which Fieff responded by staring back like he was being confronted by life-sized Kowakian monkey lizards.

Venge cut through the swell of voices. “What did you see?”

Fieff swallowed. “I—I saw planets on fire. Whole planets, consumed by fire that spread across the atmosphere. They burned until the ground was char and the air nothing but poison.”

“Which ones?” Kurri asked him, her hands clutched tight to her staff.

Fieff raked his hands through his hair. “Uh—Dantooine. Coruscant. Bastion, I think. Also—”

“Borleias,” Venge whispered.

Fieff stared at him in surprise. “Yeah. And Ord Varee. How did you know about Borleias?”

“Because I’ve seen it, too.” Venge could feel Fire creeping up on him, trying to sneak past his barricades. “Tholme, will you get the full details from Fieff?”

Tholme nodded. “I can, yes. Are you all right?”

Venge shook his head. “No,” he said, and shouldered his way past the Shadows. He leaned against the wall in the cathedral once he was out of sight, breathing hard and wondering if he was about to collapse. He needed to destroy something in the worst way, and then fall down in the privacy of his quarters.

A bright laugh came to his ears. Venge cringed and hid himself on instinct. He started walking down the Posh Line, running his hand along the wall to help keep his balance.

Venge almost missed it. If he had been looking straight ahead, instead of staring down at his boots to make sure he was still putting one foot in front of the other, he wouldn’t have noticed at all. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw dancing black spots.

Fire reared up, singing in his blood and making him feel like a born predator.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Talon watched as the first Shadow stumbled out of the dark room. He’d known it was there, but wasn’t fucking fool enough to go into such a place. No, instead he’d watched Fieff stroll right through the protective illusion. It was a surprise to see the man come back out again—walking under his own power, looking rattled but no worse for wear.

He darted away before any eyes turned in his direction. Invisible or not, he was taking no chances after the incident with the spell-casting Rishii. For a fleeting moment, she had been able to see him. If Talon had not been cloaked and hooded against the cold, the Jedi would have known what he looked like.

Sidious would have made sure that Talon looked different before sending him out again. Talon did not want the Sith Lord tempted into rearranging his features.

Talon walked up the Posh Line, pausing just beyond the Chitanook Healer’s quarters. The Force Illusion that had once hidden Venge’s quarters was gone. He thought, perhaps, that it would be prudent to spy on Venge, but that seemed stupid _and_ dangerous. He courted death enough as it was.

He turned around, intent on going back outside, and froze in place when a green-bladed lightsaber appeared directly in his path. Talon felt panic claw at him when Venge came through the shadowed part of the wall with a second green lightsaber that was pointed right at Talon’s throat.

 _Fuck_.  Even if Talon backed away from the blade, Venge was effectively blocking the corridor. There was nowhere to go.

Sidious had been right, gods all curse him. Talon had underestimated Venge’s abilities, and chances were high that he was about to reap the consequences.

Talon didn’t even dare to breathe as he waited, hand not quite touching the cool metal of his lightsaber. There was still a possibility that Venge would mistake him for one of the Shadows. Most of them had mastered true concealment by now.

Venge stepped closer. Talon could feel the heat of his body even with the distance that still separated them. The lightsaber at his throat was getting disturbingly close to Talon’s skin.

“If you are going to conceal yourself within the Force, you must not leave _any_ trace,” Venge whispered.

 _The hell I did,_ Talon thought, outrage overpowering panic.

Venge smiled. It was a sly, dangerous expression that made Talon want to bolt for safety. Only Sidious had ever evoked that response in him. “You are forgetting peripheral vision, the things we see out of the corners of our eyes.”

 _Interesting._  Sidious had not been able to catch Talon in the act of concealment since he had mastered the skill. Talon knew he left no trace—none _._ Sidious would have killed him for his many transgressions, otherwise.

Venge stepped closer. His breath stirred the fine hairs on Talon’s neck. “The cameras in this junction have developed a temporary malfunction.”

Talon’s hope of remaining undiscovered evaporated when Venge hissed, “I know that you are spying for Sidious.”

Talon felt the spit dry up in his mouth. _Dammit._

“The only reason you remain alive is because you have harmed no one, interfered with nothing. I realize that Sidious wants information at this juncture, not mayhem,” Venge said, his voice turning thoughtful. “He plays a long game.”

Talon reared back in alarm, senses screaming in warning, but it was too late. His fingers just managed to grasp his lightsaber before he was shoved against the corridor wall. The air rushed from his lungs, and Talon coughed, gulping in a fresh breath.

One of Venge’s hands rested against his chest, immovable as durasteel, as a Force grip pinned the rest of his body in place. Talon was simultaneously terrified and exceptionally turned on.

Well. Everyone had their quirks.

Venge’s fingertips brushed Talon’s exposed bare skin at the hollow of his throat. His eyes widened, his breath caught. “Oh,” he murmured. “How interesting. Are you part of the game, I wonder, or is this mere circumstance?”

With Venge’s too-warm hand on his chest, burning through his thick tunics like a brand, Talon dared to speak. “What if it’s both?”

Venge smiled, which did not reassure Talon about his odds of living through the next few seconds. He could feel the power radiating from the other Sith now. It was easily a rival for Sidious’s raw strength. If Venge wanted him dead, Talon would be.

“I can play a long game, too,” Venge said, and removed his hand. Talon’s feet dropped to the floor with a too-loud _thump_ as freedom caught him by surprise.

“Get out,” Venge growled, amusement turning to feral rage. “I do not care what excuses you make to Sidious. If you come back inside this facility, I will kill you.”

Talon did not need to be told twice. He bolted, making sure illusion and shields were still in place. He swept past the Trandoshan Shadow, who raised her arm as she felt air movement—on the wrong side, thank fuck. He collapsed by the exterior door, and had to wait a long, heart-pounding time before the vast chamber cleared out and he could exit under the cover of another illusion.

Talon stood out in the snow, for once uncaring of the cold that settled into his bones. It was not how he had planned it to happen, but Talon had done it. Venge knew he existed. Venge knew that there was…competition. He was elated, and completely fucking terrified.

Talon swallowed hard, looked up, and offered the cloudy sky a mad grin. He also really needed to jerk off. No wonder Jinn had been so entranced.

 

*          *          *          *

 

MonMassa tapped her fingers on her desk. She needed to be calm for this call, but almost a full hour had gone past, and she was no closer to regaining her center. There was something far too close to true alarm trying to grasp hold of her senses.

 _Just do it,_ she thought, and activated her terminal comm.

Tholme answered first. “Hello, Master of Shadows. Is there something I can do for you this evening?”

“I need to talk to our ally,” MonMassa said.

“Ah.” There was a click as he transferred the signal. Tholme did not waste time on words that he found pointless.

“Yes?”

“We may have a problem,” Boda announced, and transmitted a copy of the holo she’d received earlier in the evening. It showed the exterior of the Cathedral, with a message written across it in bold text: _If I can find it, so can anyone else._

“Can you explain this?” Boda asked, trying to keep her voice even. She could not afford to lose any more Shadows. Not a one.

“I imagine it’s a prank,” Venge said, which made her bare her lips in unconscious snarl before he continued. “You know how penned in Shadows are. They have to get their stress relief somehow.”

Her anger vanished, but left more trepidation in its wake. That was one of the codes agreed upon before the venture began. “I suppose I do,” she said with a weak chuckle. “I must be paranoid, jumping to conclusions.”

“None of us are paranoid without cause,” Venge said, which made icy fingers dance up her spine. “Get some rest. We plan to do the same for the next two days.”

“I believe I will do so. Good night, Kenobi.”

“Good night, MonMassa,” he replied. If Boda didn’t know better, she wouldn’t suspect that he was waging a losing battle with a Sith toxin. He sounded serene and unruffled, not ill and fighting unceasing rage.

Boda sat down in her chair. “Balls and damnation,” she whispered. The courier with the rest of Venge’s explanation would not arrive nearly quickly enough to suit her nerves.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Qui-Gon almost missed it. He’d gotten used to scrolling through the logged conversations of the Shadows on Entrios. Once the Reconciliation Council had waded through the vast amount of information, it was compressed and sent to the High Council for review. There was a three to five day delay for the standard logs, while priority-marked conversations would come to them within hours. So far, at least, there had been no emergencies.

He read through the conversation in the commissary twice. After the second time, he tossed the datapad up into the air, and clenched his hand into a fist. The pad sparked and crumpled, crushed into uselessness, before falling to the floor.

“What the hell, Qui-Gon?” Mace asked.

“I see it,” Adi murmured. “Dear gods.”

Qui-Gon stood from his chair. “My apologies,” he said, not quite able to look directly at any of the other assembled Councilors. “I’m not going to be of any use to you at the moment. I will return later, if the Council is still in session.”

T’ra’s voice seemed to be very far away. “Go ahead, Qui-Gon.”

“Don’t bother coming back later,” Adi continued. “I will send you a briefing when we conclude.”

Qui-Gon inclined his head, a stiff nod that did little to convey his gratitude, before he left the Council chamber. He didn’t go home—that would entail explanations to the Padawans that he was not ready to give. Instead, he took the lift down to the communications hub in the lowest part of the central tower.

Padawan Tkee had him by the arm moments after he’d entered the Shadows’ dimly lit observation room. “You’ll want privacy for this, I expect,” she said, leading him towards the rear of the room, away from the other Shadows and technicians.

“I expect so,” Qui-Gon echoed. He couldn’t tell if he was enraged, or numb.

Tkee activated a monitor that showed Obi-Wan’s room in the Cathedral. Venge was lying face up in bed, fully dressed, with his right arm thrown over his eyes. The room itself was clean and intact as long as you ignored the far wall. It was warped and blackened, and seemed to be tilting at an angle.

“Oh, he’s awake,” Tkee said, giving him a faint smile. “He’s awake most of the time.”

“Good,” Qui-Gon said, though it really wasn’t good at all.

Tkee nodded and presented him with a headset. “That’ll connect you directly to the intercom in Knight Kenobi’s room. He’ll hear you, and vice versa, but we won’t.”

“Thank you, Padawan,” Qui-Gon managed, and sat down in front of the monitor. This was not ideal, but it would have to do. He could tell without enlarging the image that Obi-Wan was still hiding the depth of Fire’s damage, the damned idiot. No wonder he’d refused visual communication—Qui-Gon would have noticed the illusion, even if he wouldn’t have been able to see what lay beneath.

The moment Tkee left him, Qui-Gon put on the headset and activated the comm, giving it time to connect before he spoke. “Hello, Obi-Wan.”

On the screen, Venge jerked in surprise before his lips widened in a tired smile. “Hello, Qui.”

“I read something very interesting today in the Cathedral reports,” Qui-Gon said, his voice sharp. Anger was welling up, replacing shock.

“The transcripts made their way upstairs already? Hmm.” Venge lowered his arm, staring up at the ceiling. Even with the illusion in place, exhaustion was leaking through.

“Dammit, Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon hissed. “You were supposed to—” he broke off, regaining control of his temper, before he spoke again. “No secrets. Remember that?”

Venge grimaced. “It wasn’t a secret. The medical data has been going to the Council as well.”

“I don’t know how to read most of that nonsense, and not a one of those reports mentioned you _dying_ ,” Qui-Gon growled. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Next week,” Venge said, surprising him. “At the rate the Shadows have been progressing, we’ll be done here by then.”

Qui-Gon’s anger cooled, a little bit. Yes, there had been deceit, but not as much as he’d feared. “And then what? Do you come back here for an extended stay in a bacta tank, while the rest of us watch and hope you are capable of waking back up?”

Venge shook his head, closing his eyes again. “No. When the time comes, it will happen here. If something goes wrong, I’ll be trapped on Entrios. A crazy fucking Sith on Coruscant sounds like the worst idea ever.”

That forced a short, unwilling laugh from him. “It does. Can I come and see you, then, once you’ve cleaned out the Cathedral of Shadows?”

“No. I’d like you to meet me somewhere, instead.” Venge rolled over onto his side; the cameras switched viewpoints automatically so that Qui-Gon could see his face. His eyes were open again, staring blankly at the distant wall.

“Where, and why?”

Venge’s eyes narrowed. “A pushy, annoying, ancient dead Jedi has been invading what little sleep I get, insisting that I need to go to Mortis.”

 _Ulic Qel-Droma,_ Qui-Gon surmised, surprised by the bitterness on his mate’s face. “We’d planned to visit Mortis months ago. Why do you no longer wish to go?”

“I _was_ curious, but that was when I didn’t remember the fucking place,” Venge spat, and sat up. “I remember it now.”

“Then tell me.” Qui-Gon sat down in the chair in front of the station, leaning closer to the monitor. “It can’t be that bad.”

Venge laughed. “It can’t be that—oh, Qui-Gon.” He leaned forward, his hair falling over and obscuring his eyes. “Did you ever wonder why I’ve been so reticent to visit the wellspring? To see if I could open those great doors?”

Qui-Gon felt his blood run cold. “No, I—I assumed you just weren’t comfortable with the idea. You always had been as a Padawan…” Too late, he realized his error. Obi-Wan had not been his Padawan for a long, long time.

Venge’s voice was acidic. “When I left Mortis, I came home to the Temple. After making my report of what we had experienced, I went down into the oldest levels…and I opened those doors for the first and last time. I sat down before that tiny pool of water, and I asked the wellspring to make me forget that fucking planet.”

“By the Force, _why_?”

“I learned many things on Mortis. Some of them were useful. Others…others made me want to walk off of a high cliff, close my eyes, and enjoy the fall,” Venge whispered. “I could not indulge in that, much as I wished to. Duty compelled me, and…and I could not leave my brother to fight that war alone.”

“So you erased it,” Qui-Gon said. If he had been angry before, that was gone. Instead, he just felt empty. He understood his mate’s motives, now, and felt like the biggest damned fool for letting fear cloud his judgment.

“Well, for Obi-Wan, the memories were not accessible. For me?” Venge seemed amused. “Not erasure. Complete disassociation, in order to keep going. Isn’t that selfish?”

“No.” Qui-Gon swallowed. “No, I don’t think that it is. I think it’s one of the least selfish things I’ve ever heard.”

“You are biased,” Venge said. “Anakin still has the coordinates; you can meet me in orbit around Mortis in ten days.”

“Is that a set schedule?” Qui-Gon asked, jarred by the abrupt subject change.

“Well, if something goes wrong, you’re in prime position to hear about it first. I’ll hammer the itinerary into place with the Council on your behalf, if need be.” Venge smiled. “Even if I hate the idea of Mortis, it will be worth it to see you. I miss you.”

Qui-Gon smiled back. “I miss you, too.”

Then, to his surprise, he felt the barest edge of the Lifebond curl back. _I love you._

Qui-Gon grasped the edge of the table, almost overwhelmed just by that faint contact. There was the glow of Fire, but above that, forcing its way through the rage, was the depth of Obi-Wan’s feelings for him.

Gods, but he’d missed that. _I love you, too_.

 

*          *          *          *

 

It took her a long time to make a decision. When she did so, however, she made her way to Entrios without delay.

Depa Billaba sat in her chair, eyes closed. The shuttle was bouncing in the planet’s turbulent atmosphere; the restraints were welcome lines of tension across her chest and lap.

“Are you sure you want me to drop you off here?” the pilot called back in Durese. “I don’t think there’s a bit of life on this iceberg.”

“Yes, I’m certain,” Depa said. “Just go to the coordinates I gave you. The tree should be visible once you break through the cloud layer.”

“Whatever you say.” It was a surprise when the Duros didn’t make a remark about crazy Jedi. Still—she wasn’t one any longer, was she?

The pilot landed the craft with a harsher bump than she was used to. “Last chance, m’lady,” he called.

Depa stood, cinched her jacket tightly closed, and pulled up the fur-lined hood. “Lower the ramp, please.”

“All right, then. Good luck.”

Depa walked down the ramp and bit back a gasp as the chill struck her full in the face. She’d never done well on cold planets, and Entrios was fond of snowing for three out of four seasons.

Master Tholme met her at the entrance, allowing her inside before sealing the door behind her. “Depa,” he said in a curt voice.

“Tholme,” she replied, allowing serenity to soften her words. “Thank you for allowing me to come here.”

Tholme gave her a cold stare. “There are seventeen people in this building who will cut you down where you stand if you raise your lightsaber against Kenobi.”

“I have no reason to do so,” Depa replied, taken aback by such a blatant threat.

“Huh.” If anything, his cold stare intensified. “Should have thought of that quite a while ago.”

“Yes,” she agreed, much of her serenity evaporating. “I should have.”

Tholme raised an eyebrow. “Well, come on then,” he said, and led her across the vast chamber that fronted the Cathedral facility.

Depa felt her skin crawl as they progressed. “I feel as if I am being watched.”

He smiled without humor. “You are.”

Tholme brought her to the central hall, where they passed several closed doors before coming to one that was open. She followed him inside, discovering an office that seemed to be an eclectic collection of medical texts, datapads, and used tea mugs that were in dire need of washing. There were two chairs pushed against the wall and out of the way, with a third waiting in front of the desk. Obi-Wan was seated there, resting his head upon its surface. His eyes were closed, but she didn’t think he was sleeping. The rage was tightly leashed, but it soured the air around him.

“Go ahead and leave, Tholme. She’s not going to slay me while I’m sitting at this desk.”

Tholme snorted. “I’m less worried about her and more worried about our Shadows introducing her to the pecking order.” He turned to her, his eyes narrowed. “Behave yourself. My patience with the fearful is at its end.” He left, shutting the door behind him.

Depa sat down in the waiting chair, bowing her head. “I believe I deserved that.”

“He was being kind, actually,” Venge said, without lifting his head or opening his eyes. “When MonMassa first told us that you wished to visit the Cathedral, his words for you were far less complimentary.”

“And what of you, Obi-Wan?” Depa asked. “What words do you have for me?” She wanted to call him Venge, but also dared not. Given what she had come to discuss, it seemed like a barb instead of truth.

“In all honesty, the only words I have for you are, ‘Leave me alone so I can suffer in peace and quiet,’” he said. “However, I’m realistic.”

Venge sat up and opened his eyes. The burning amber of his gaze seared into her heart. “I think we should forget my words, and focus on yours. What is it you wish of me, Master Billaba?”

Depa jerked upright at the use of her title. “Why would you call me that?”

Venge tilted his head, though his eyes never looked away from her. “Leaving the Order does not stop you from being a Jedi unless you choose to stop being one. The Order is a community only; being a Jedi is a spiritual state of being.” His eyes flickered down to her civilian clothing. “Have you chosen not to be a Jedi?”

Depa rested her hands on her lap. She was too warm, now, sitting in this office dressed in clothes meant for ice and snow. “I suppose I must still be a Jedi, as I still bear my lightsaber.”

“For the moment,” he said, and then fell silent. Depa realized he was waiting for her to answer his question.

It was harder to say than she had ever imagined. Never in her life had she made such a grave mistake. “If I were to apologize to you for the actions I took against you, would you forgive me?” She plowed on when he seemed taken aback. “Because—I am sorry. I’ve thought on it often since leaving the Order. I let my fears rule me in a way that shames me.”

“I cannot forgive you,” Venge said in a soft voice. Her heart plummeted; she had expected as much.

“I cannot forgive you because I never held your actions against you in the first place,” he said, and Depa’s eyes widened.

“How could you _not?_ ” she exclaimed. “What I did was—”

“Foolish,” Venge said, unconcerned by her outburst. “However, in the grand scheme of things, your actions did very little to harm me. It is Owari, Drusin, Ahhnta, Koppina, and Ixell who bear the mark of your folly—literally, in Ahhnta, Koppina, and Ixell’s cases. Without interference, they would have washed out of this training program and returned to the Temple. Instead, they are no longer Shadows. In a time when we are at war with a Sith, that is a grave loss.”

“I hadn’t realized that the five of them had lost their status.” Depa was appalled. Their punishment was far more extreme than hers, most of which she had chosen herself.

“The Shadows are beings who cannot afford to let themselves be ruled by fear, anger, aggression, or hatred.” Venge rested his clasped hands together on the desktop. “It was rather discouraging to find out how few Shadows were really qualified to hunt the Sith, considering it is what their agency was created for in the first place.”

“By that same token, you are saying that many Masters of the Order are not qualified for hunting Sith, either,” Depa replied. She wasn’t certain if his weaponless hands were meant to reassure, or to terrify.

He seemed amused. “They are not. Are they, Master Depa?”

Depa bowed her head in recognition of his point. “No. I suppose we aren’t.” She drew in a deep breath, letting it out and trying to release her anxieties with it. She was not successful.

“I’ve been gone from my home for over a month. I miss my dear Linena, and her troublesome Padawan, but I can’t return to them, not yet. I must get over this fear, and I’m no longer certain if it is fear of you, or fear what you represent.”

She could feel his eyes upon her, and it was difficult not to lean back in her chair in a futile attempt to escape. She had chosen to do this, in hopes that it would help to diminish her terror, but so far all she had developed was the feeling of being prey.

Venge stood up from his chair. “Come with me,” he said, and gestured for her to precede him from the office.

Depa rose, and after a fierce internal debate, managed to turn her back on Venge. He followed her out into the corridor. Having him pacing behind her was so much worse than the watchful eyes.

He brought her to an open, dimly lit doorway further down the corridor. Darkness seemed to be spilling out of the room like a filled cup trapped under an unceasing flow of water. Depa backed up several steps before she could stop herself.

“What is that place?”

“Come inside, Master Billaba,” Venge murmured. “I will show you.”

Depa’s hands were trembling, and she was grateful that the long sleeves of her coat hid that from his eyes. “Are you going to murder me once we’re inside?”

Venge sighed. “Only if you fail,” he said, and stepped through the doorway.

Depa stared after him, alarmed when he disappeared from view within scant seconds of entering the room.

_Only if you fail._

Depa steeled herself. She had come this far in an attempt to make amends, and her pride refused to allow her to back out now.

She entered the darkened room, surprised to find that she could make out details surrounding her as she walked. There was no furniture, and the walls were varying shades of gray that were darkest near the floor. The very air in the place seemed dank and cold.

“I’m right here,” Venge said, startling her so badly that her heart gave a terrible lurch in her chest. His hand brushed hers, his fingers burning hot when the rest of him seemed so cold.

Depa gulped audibly, feeling trapped. “What is this place?” she asked again, as the shadows in the room grew and changed.

Venge moved to stand at her back, so that they faced away from each other. “Only what you bring with you.”

“I’ve brought _you_ with me,” Depa retorted.

His laughter was cruel. “And I’ve brought you with _me,_ ” he said. “Which of us is in more danger, do you think?”

Depa flinched and whirled around when she heard the _snap-hiss_ of a lightsaber being ignited. Venge turned to face her, his aura turning black, far darker than anything this strange room could offer. His lightsaber was red, the same color as the Sith from Naboo. His eyes glowed with malevolence revealed at last.

She heard a voice speak, faint and faraway: “I have not turned around, Master Billaba. Tell me what you _see._ ”

She ignored it. The truth of Venge’s evil was standing before her. Depa pulled her lightsaber from her coat, activating the blade. The azure wash of color steadied her, and allowed her to catch the first swing of the blood-red lightsaber.

Depa fell into the rhythm of battle. Her anger was high; she channeled it into her dueling form. Her Master had trained her in _vaapad_ , and she would not falter. She would not fail.

How dare this Sith threaten her Order. How _dare_ he continue to masquerade as her friend!

Depa whirled, gritting her teeth, as the battle became fierce. He was fighting back in earnest, now, driven to defend by the strength of her attack. She smiled and doubled her efforts, driving back the Sith.

He faltered, and Depa raised her lightsaber. The blade cast a glow upon his face.

It was not him.

Depa froze in place, staring in slowly dawning horror as she recognized the lined, too-thin features as her own. Her Chalactan signs of enlightenment were gone, torn from her face. Her hair was frazzled and gray. Her eyes were wide, mocking and insane.

She lowered her lightsaber. The thing with her face did the same.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” it asked her. It had Depa’s voice, but it was high and lilting, and full of contempt.

“No,” Depa whispered. She shut down her lightsaber, stunned to the core.

“Well, then,” her copy said, and vanished.

Depa looked around, realizing that she stood within a cluster of tables. Chairs were stacked upon them. The walls were not gray. Everything was in terrible shades of red, as if she stood inside a living body.

The door was nearby, wreathed in white light. Depa hastened her steps until she emerged from the abandoned commissary. Venge was waiting for her outside, leaning against the far wall.

Venge’s eyes glowed, but she found no malevolence there. Anger, yes—that he had in spades. Beneath the anger, she sensed terrible pain, echoes of old losses. His face was etched with the signs of exhaustion, but there was no hard set to his mouth. She saw more humor there than not, even if it was of the morbid kind.

Depa caught sight of Venge’s hands, which were resting atop of his crossed arms. There were faint green lines marring his skin, like patterns of cracking ice.

“What do you see, when you go inside?” Depa asked. Her voice was rough and raw, as if she’d been screaming.

Venge’s smile was terrible and sad. “Nothing,” he said. “I _am_ my anger, my fear, and my hatred. The Chamber cannot make me face it, because I endure it with every day that passes.”

“I am so sorry,” Depa gasped. Her voice broke, and tears blurred her vision before they fell.

Venge nodded. “I believe you now.”

Depa dashed the tears from her cheeks. “I don’t want to become what I saw.”

“That could be your future,” he told her. “It is also a thing of my past. That was the Depa who Fell on Haruun Kal after months of war, the Depa who saw too much endless suffering, death, loss, and horror. She went mad from it; she tried to stop the fighting while also attempting to bury her lightsaber in her Master’s body.”

Depa felt the air rush from her lungs. She couldn’t bear the thought of ever falling so far that she would seek Mace’s death. “What do we do?”

Venge stood up, dropping his hands at his sides. Depa flinched, but it was habit by this point, not fear. “The Jedi Order has gone long centuries without war. We’re no longer properly trained to endure such things. When confronted with it, we break.”

She cleared her throat when the words seemed trapped there. “Did you break?”

“Twice,” Venge said, his eyes flickering away. “The second time…that is me.”

“I still feel this fear.” Depa licked her lips to moisten them, and tasted blood. “I have felt it ever since your Knighting.”

“Did you really have such fear that day? Did you _really?_ ” Venge asked, his voice intense. “I was there as well, Depa Billaba. I felt no such fear from you.”

“But—I remember it.” Depa wiped her mouth and came away with flecks of drying blood. She must have bitten her lip during the fight in the Chamber.

“I believe that you do,” Venge said. “But the emotions contained in your memories are likely false. Remember: the Sith Veil was in place over the whole of Coruscant. Our thoughts, our actions—they were altered by its very existence. The Veil could have taken a moment of concern, and amplified it until it became fear…and thus you began to believe that it was fear of me you felt in that moment, not concern over an uncertain future.”

“Jil-Hyra,” Depa whispered, and felt the upwelling of old grief.

“Jil-Hyra might have been influenced by the Veil, but Sidious also chose to manipulate her directly. With that action, we do not only have her death, or the destruction of the crèche bombing in an attempt to divert public attention from the Naboo crisis. He also served to create further doubt in your mind, and possibly in the minds of others.”

Venge came closer, but did not move to touch her. When Depa breathed in, there was no hint of that earlier sourness. “How many others, I wonder, feel the same fear as you?”

Depa thought of Colman Trebor’s willingness to help her, an action that went against the Code that he loved. Five Shadows had all but jumped at the chance to assassinate a Jedi, despite Boda MonMassa’s assurance that it was his instruction they were meant to accept.

“Too many,” she said.

Venge smiled, and at last, she could see Obi-Wan shining through, not destroyed by the rage after all. “We should do something about that, don’t you think?”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Depa Billaba is staying in the Cathedral,” Boda repeated in disbelief.

“For the moment,” Venge replied. He was standing alone, this time. “She needs to see what we’ve done here, and experience the whole of what our Shadows have learned to do.”

“How do we know she’s not going to resort to stabbing you if the opportunity arises?” Xavery asked. “What? We’re both thinking it, Master,” she said, when Boda gave her a stern look.

Venge quirked an eyebrow at Xavery’s interruption, as if he approved. “I took her into the Chamber, MonMassa. She’s now the second of three to pass its trial.”

MonMassa’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? And who is the third?”

“Myself,” Venge answered, with a faint dip of his head.

Xavery’s eyes widened. “What did you see, sir?” she asked before Boda could speak.

“Nothing I was not already aware of.”

MonMassa pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you telling me that you’ve turned Depa Billaba into a Shadow?”

“I’ve done no such thing.” Venge smiled. “She’ll choose the path on her own, soon enough.”

There was a discreet cough from behind Boda and Xavery. Boda turned; Colm Fieff stood there, cloaked but not hooded.

“How the hell did you—” Xavery began in an affronted voice, and then she deflated. “Oh. Right. I know how you got in here.”

Boda eyed Fieff, and felt a frustrated sort of elation. Even now, she wouldn’t think to label the younger man a Jedi Master. He was just too good at what he did, the bratling. “You would be my courier, I’m assuming.”

“I would, yes. I made it through clean,” Fieff said to Venge.

Venge nodded once. “We’ll see you again in two days,” he said, and ended the transmission.

Xavery glanced at the assembled techs, who were all pretending to ignore Fieff’s sudden appearance. “Master, I’ll have dinner sent up to your office. I’m sure you’ll want Knight Fieff’s full report.”

“I do want Master Fieff’s full report, yes,” Boda confirmed, which made Fieff raise both eyebrows in an exaggerated gesture of feigned innocence.

“Master, you know you can’t just promote people whenever you feel like it, without the High Council’s approval,” Xavery said, biting her lower lip against a grin.

“And the entire lot of them know where to find me,” Boda replied. “Come with me, Fieff.”

“Yes’m,” Fieff said, still wearing his foolish mask.

Once they had returned to her office, Boda waved for Fieff to seat himself before her desk. As she sat down, Boda touched her fingertips against a particular spot on the underside of her desk. The needle jab always hurt, but it was worth the extra security measure. Body temperature, pulse rate, and fingerprints could be faked, but it wasn’t often that an intruder thought about blood acquisition.

A flat panel just above the desk’s drawers popped out, revealing a control pad. “Don’t move,” she warned Fieff, and activated the office’s security measures.

Fieff whistled as the grid of red lasers appeared. The crisscrossing beams filled every part of the room, with barely enough room around Boda and Fieff to allow for restless movement.

“That’s a hell of an addition,” Fieff said. His mask had fallen away, and he looked at the beams in approval. “Instant cauterization?”

Boda nodded. “I thought it an appropriate countermeasure, given the potential for Force-hiding spies. There is full signal jamming employed, as well. Let’s hear your report, Shadow Fieff.”

“Master of Shadows,” Fieff inclined his head. Now she was seeing him—all of him. Dammit, Tholme was correct. She should have been paying more attention. “There is a spy for Sidious working near the Cathedral.”

“I had surmised as much,” Boda said, allowing the steel of her resolve to color her voice. “Details, please.”

“He’s been inside and out, probably for as long as our training program has been running."

 _Damn._  “That means our spy knows the identity of every Shadow, and has a very good idea of what you’re all capable of. I take it he was utilizing the Force-hiding techniques that Kenobi taught you.”

“Yes.” Fieff paused. “We don’t think he got personal details out of us, given that we’re a secretive bunch, but with our names, it won’t be that difficult to track down exploitable weaknesses.”

Boda sighed. “I’m running out of Five-Year Knight volunteers to put on protection details, but I will do what I can for those of you who have regular contact with your civilian families.”

Fieff smiled. “I appreciate that,” he said, and the smile dropped away. “Boda, there’s more to it. Kenobi had a confrontation with the spy.”

“And the reason you didn’t bring the spy to me in a body bag is…?”

“Kenobi thinks the spy may be a double agent,” Fieff said. “He does stress that this is a possibility only, but given the man’s identity, I’m inclined to agree with Kenobi.”

When Fieff uttered the spy’s name aloud, all Boda could think to do was blink at Fieff in disbelief. “I—I want to say that it’s impossible, but I’m dealing with Kenobi, Skywalker, and a damned Sith Lord.”

“Kenobi says that the identity is solid. It’s our spy’s motivation that we’ll have to be on guard against. He thinks the chance of the spy’s double-agent status is sitting in the sixty-forty range.”

“Those are not solid odds,” Boda said. She found herself drumming her fingers on her desktop again, and made herself stop. She didn’t need to develop a nervous tic at this stage of her life.

“No, but it’s better than no chance at all.” Fieff’s lip curled up in something close to a sneer. “Otherwise, I’d have a body for you that we’ve already cleaned up after once before.”

“I don’t look forward to explaining either possibility to the High Council,” Boda retorted. “Is there anything else, Knight?”

Fieff shook his head. “No. I’ll be heading straight back to the Cathedral. I may be graduated, but there’s eleven more of us who need to go through the wringer, and I should be available in case someone loses their shit.”

Boda smiled. “I trust that you’ll have the situation well in-hand, Master Fieff. May the Force be with you,” she said, and turned off the security grid.

Fieff stood up and gave her a short bow. “And with you, Master of Shadows.”

Boda watched him go, and then activated her comm. “Xavery, forget dinner. I’d like you to send alcohol up to my office.”

“Yes, Master. Will that be polite fizzy societal drinking alcohol, or soul-destroying rot alcohol?”

“The latter, please,” Boda said.

“Clusterfuck in process, Master?” Xavery asked.

Boda nodded. “Our situation has just become much more complicated.”


End file.
